


Transfer

by wrabbit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comment Fic, Community: fic_promptly, Gen, Pain, Prompt Fic, h/c, non-sexual bdsm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:25:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrabbit/pseuds/wrabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anthea helps Mycroft Holmes focus after "A Scandal in Belgravia."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transfer

Mycroft rubbed his hair against the grain under his palms, resisted the urge to grab and tug.

"Enough." A quiet, feminine voice broke his reverie. A belated "Sir" followed moments later and Mycroft's shoulders rose and fell in a sigh, his fingers extended out straight as he pressed the heel of his palms gently against his skull.

"Not now, Anthea," he muttered. He was piloting an out of control plane in his own time, shame and disgust and guilt, guilt broiling in his mind, ruling his thoughts in waves. He needed to take a step back. He needed to think. He had no time for other people.

His fingers curled in the air, tight and angry as the glass of port on his desk was shifted into one of Anthea's manicured, elegant hands and disappeared somewhere out of sight. He gritted his teeth, expression shutting down as he removed his hands from his head and turned to look at her.

A flash of anger washed through him as he registered the concern, pity, he thought, on her enigmatic face. A muscle in his jaw twitched and he reached for her arm when her fingers stretched out to remove the bottle from the table.

Before he could slide his fingers around her wrist, she shifted her hand over his in a bewildering twist that had brutal effects, pinning Mycroft's hand to the table at an angle that ground the human machinery inside. He hissed, freezing. It was his off hand. He could see her considering as fingers dug into something that twinged inside his wrist and he blanched.

Anthea leaned forward over the table, her silky brown hair falling from behind her ear as she met his gaze, steady, from inches away. "That's enough," she said again, eyes narrowing a fraction in thought.

Mycroft swallowed. His entire arm was beginning to ache, pain radiating up his forearm. "I have something for you," Anthea said quietly after a minute of this, while he maintained eye contact and took steadying breaths, calming despite the burning in his wrist and arm. "Are you ready?" she asked.

He took a breath. Another, concentrating. "Yes," he nodded, when he felt sure.

She eased his wrist into neutral as he winced and swallowed a whimper or a moan. He slid his arm out of her gentle grip, rubbing it.

"What do you have for me?" he asked.

Anthea walked outside the room and returned immediately, heels clicking on the floor, with a hulking dossier balanced in her arms, portions of it showing the evidences of her meticulous notetaking. Mycroft took a breath, the scalpels of his reasoning mind re-sharpened for now. "Thank you," he said as Anthea set the tower of records down on the table and began dividing it into sections.

She asked, "Would you like me to have the secretary bring anything?"

"Ice water. Anthea," he called her before she was halfway across the room. "Thank you," he said again.

She nodded.


End file.
